Michael, Antoinette, and Me

 

Part Five

 

I washed the dishes, cleaned up the kitchen, declining help. With the water running, I peeked into the dining room. Antoinette had turned her chair, watching herself in my upright mirror, moving around so she could see up her dress.

God, I thought, so much like me.

I made hot chocolate, served in mugs.

“You don’t have a TV.”

“Correct, I do not. I’ve got this image of my father, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other, blank stare at the TV. Creepy.”

“Radio?”

“Am I boring you?”

“No, it’s not that. How do you know what the weather’s going to be?”

“Newspaper, little box on the bottom of the front page. I like to listen to the sounds of the house, like it’s whispering secrets to me.”

Sitting at the table, she put her hand over mine. “Let’s listen, then.”

I closed my eyes, her hand coming up my arm. I first heard my breathing, then my heartbeat. The clothes drier banged out a cadence in the distance, the legs of her chair slid across the wood floor.

Her hand cupped my underarm, her warm breath caressed my cheek. I thought to tell Michael no. I had no desire in any universe to kiss Michael. Turning my head, opening my eyes, I saw Antoinette.

Our lips met taking me to a place not a place in a time not a time, where Antoinette danced naked with me in the snow of winter, a place where words had no meaning. I sighed almost mournfully, her left hand cupping my cheek, trapping me in the kiss, her right hand dropping to my knee, her palm coming up my thigh.

I gulped, panting, pushing back, grabbing Antoinette’s right wrist with both my hands.

“Toby?”

“Antoinette, I, eh, I can’t, ah. I barely know you.” I’d made love to Antoinette dozens of times and her, to me. This Antoinette was as familiar to me as my own scent, yet a stranger. She scared me.

She fell back on her chair, almost pouting. “I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.” Sliding my chair back, gaining my feet, I stepped, straddling her, taking her cheeks in my palms, raising her face to mine. So much like me. I put my lips on hers, my tongue violating her mouth.

 She tried to say my name, surrendering to the kiss instead, her arms cupped under my arms, a hand coming to the back of my head. I almost moaned I love you, Antoinette like I have so many times before. Even lost out in the ocean of passion, I knew Antoinette wasn’t there.

Yet, for twenty minutes, I consumed Antoinette like a dry sponge soaks up a careless spill. Both panting, drawing hard breaths, I dismounted, blushing, smoothing my dress. I’d felt her erection pushing against her dress. I thought I could get her off rocking on her lap. I didn’t want her ejaculating in my underwear, shivering at the idea.

Watching me, she ran her hands down her thighs over her dress, resting on her knees. “These stockings are nothing like Mom’s.”

I kept her eyes. “Silk. I often have an orgasm just putting them on.”

“Really?”

“Well, almost. Sometimes it doesn’t take much.”

“I can see why.”

“How do I put this?” Bill Locke had just talked about crossdressing, eyefucking me trying on dresses, and got the urgency to masturbate in the car in front of the house. Not that riding Antoinette’s lap didn’t count as masturbation, more for her than me, I asked, “Do you have an urgency?”

“A what?”

I twisted my face, eying her lap. “Is there something you need to take care of?”

“Oh, oh, eh, need, no. Not need.”

“Want, then? Let me be very clear, Antoinette. I’m not going to do it for you.”

Watching up at me, keeping my eyes, she bit her lip.

I melted.

“Can I watch you?” Her voice almost begged.

“Do me? I don’t think so.”

“No, not you. I mean, can I watch you while I do me? Or is that too weird?”

“Too weird? Well, Uncle Gropey would trap me in the bathroom, put his face in mine and jerk off on me at family gatherings.”

She gulped.

I shrugged. “Too weird? You sit there, I sit or stand over here. Not too weird. I just don’t want you messing up my underwear.”

She gnashed her teeth. “Kind of too late for that. My underwear is already wet.”

Mine, too.

“There’s this lubrication –”

I rolled my eyes, hand on my hip. “I know how the plumbing works, Antoinette.” I let out a deep sigh. “Here’s the deal. You do yourself, I’ll sit over here. You stay the night, I have an extra room, we get up early, I make us breakfast, we get dressed up, go to church in the morning.”

“Dressed up?” She looked terrified.

“I know you hate everything church, your father beating you with a bible and all.”

“It’s not that. Go out dressed up?”

“Oh, Antoinette. You pass. No one is going to see anything but Antoinette. It’ll be fun. Or you can go up to the bathroom, jerk off, change, and go home.”

Antoinette nodded to the chair. I retrieved a dishtowel from the kitchen, handing it, taking the chair, flipping one leg over the other. “Promise now?”

Her left hand gathered hem, bunching material, her right hand cupping her underwear. “I get to spend more time with you, Toby, get to have breakfast with you, then get to present Antoinette to the world? Can I try your sandals on?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, that’s not a choice, then.”

She slid on the chair, pushing the top of her underwear hooked under her scrotum revealing the erect penis.

There’s Michael, I thought. “Circumcised,” I observed, adding, “Uncle Gropey and my brother are not.”

“Mark, too?”

“He liked to sneak in my room at night, ejaculating on my face in my sleep. Seems a family thing.”

 

Yeah, I’m crazy.

 

I was hoping for snow, maybe even rain, getting clear skies, high in the fifties instead, which was kind of perfect for a long walk.

Antoinette found me in the kitchen, fully dressed in my chiffon dress, makeup carefully done, wig curtaining her face. “Good morning.”

“Stay clear of the stove in that dress,” I warned. “And good morning.” I stepped away from the bacon. We kissed.

“I hope it’s OK.”

Whatever it is, Antoinette, it’s OK.

“I went into your bedroom, for the makeup.”

“You really did a nice job.”

She blushed, watching my face. “Thanks.” Turning, then turning back, she confessed, “I went in your basket. I wanted to wear your underwear from yesterday.”

I sighed deeply.

“Not overstuffed?”

I turned from my sizzling potatoes. “Perfect, Antoinette.”

 

“Good morning, Father Brown. What a beautiful day.”

He took my hands, nodding. “Always a beautiful day when I see you.”

“My best friend.” I indicted with a hand gesture. “Antoinette.”

“Pleasure,” Father Brown said as we moved into the church.

Head close to mind, Antoinette said, “He seems nice.”

I shrugged.

“Best friend, huh?”

“I have no friends. It’s a low bar.”

Levy half stood in the middle of the pew, waving. I waved back. Coming in the row, I greeted the family, nodded behind me. “Antoinette, my best friend.”

“I would have guessed your sister,” Levy said. “Only prettier.”

“You’re just saying that because I said no to a date.”

“Yes and no. Maybe.”

“That’s a pretty dress,” Isabella said, leaning across her brother.

“Not as pretty as yours, Belly.”

 

Antoinette and I held hands through most of the service.

 

Levy hurried around the car to open the door. “Thank you, kind sir,” I said climbing out. He nodded, offering a hand to Antoinette. He crowded her.

“You are the prettier sister.”

“Eh, thanks,” she returned, working around him.

“Thanks for the ride.” My new sandals were killing me after the first mile walk on concrete.

He stepped toward me, low voice. “See you Thursday.”

“You will.”

Still on the sidewalk as we held hands, we waved, mostly to Isabella as the car drove off.

“I’ve done that,” she moaned.

“Done what?”

“Blocked a girl’s path to talk to her.”

“It’s a classic move.”

“I never realized how obnoxious it is.”

“I think he likes you.”

“He seems nice, but I don’t like boys. In that way.”

“Now you can understand why I told Michael in front of the school that day that I couldn’t be his girlfriend.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “But you could be my girlfriend?”

I released a very long sigh. I was in love, real and true, with Antoinette. This Antoinette, I wasn’t sure. Walking to church, her beside me in reality and not just the reality of my mind was beyond words. Moments over the past sixteen hours filled my heart to the point I thought it would burst from my chest.

I at once wished I hadn’t modelled for Michael as he masturbated, and I was glad I did. Watching his face, his excitement as he eyefucked me, building, filling the dishtowel relegated Michael to a place next to Uncle Gropey. I was glad for that, the poignant reminder Michael was not Antoinette.

I watched her pale blue eyes sweeping my face, wondering whether I wasn’t so different, watching myself in the mirror, imagining another version of Antoinette, sometimes getting myself off.  I wanted to ask, Do you always masturbate when you dress up? I didn’t have to. I knew the answer.

“I could be Antoinette’s girlfriend.”

“But not Michael’s,” she affirmed the implication.

She released my hand, turning toward the house. “I have to change, get home. I have a book report due this week. I can use the shower?”

“Antoinette ­–”

“It’s OK, Toby. You’re not that only one that gets things. You did promise I could try the sandals.”

“I did.”

 

I’d hoped Michael had become a person who didn’t get mad, breaking things, when thought was required. He didn’t have any difficulty with the garter and stockings, which can be challenging at first. I imagined him biting his lip, patiently working at the clip, but that was Antoinette, not Michael.

I washed the breakfast dishes, wiped down the kitchen while Michael took another shower, the shower a portal between worlds. I pushed back the sadness, Antoinette dying – again. When I saw Michael in the mall Thursday evening, I invited him to dinner. I got from him exactly what I wanted – an opportunity to embrace a flesh-and-blood Antoinette.

“Mom bought me a wig,” I said to the sink, not pleased I could so easily lie.

“I really had a great time,” Michael said, entering the kitchen.

Drying my hands, I said, “I’ll walk you out.”

Opening the front door, he turned on me. “I know I’m not Antoinette, but at least I don’t smell now. Friends that hug?”

“A question, maybe a weird one.”

“Compared to the last day –”

“Do you always masturbate?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, when you dress up.”

“Well, Toby, that’s kind of the point.”

I narrowed my eyes. “No pleasure just, eh, being Antoinette?”

“Tons, Toby. Tons. Dinner with you, talking, laughing at the table, even those moments when we got quiet, smiling at each other, the walk to church was terrifying, but when I gave over to actually being Antoinette, it was magic.”

“Yes, friends that hug.” I whispered in his ear, “Thanks for being Antoinette. Call me during the week, we’ll see what next Saturday brings.”

“I’d like that.”

As he pulled away, I took his face in my palms, closed my eyes and kissed Antoinette one last time.

“Friends that kiss. I can dig it,” he said, turning, taking the steps three at a time, off to hitchhike the thirteen miles home.

Stepping onto my porch, I watched the figure shrink in the distance. Michael was in love, real and true, with the Antoinette we created – maybe before we created her without knowing it – using me to see her beyond himself, to touch her beyond himself.

As I used him.

 

Gray sweatshirt, inherited pants that zippered on the side, socks and my boots, high ponytail was like living in a normal world. Old Lady Marcy didn’t throw anything away. I was an hour into lugging unless junk and broken furniture to the trash container sitting in the driveway when Levy rolled up.

“You always wear your suit when stopping over so you don’t have to help,” I greeted.

“I’ll go home and change!” he said from the bottom of the front steps.

“I’m kidding.”

He looked around. “Nice service today.”

“Yes, Levy, nice service.” I placed a hand on my hip, tapping a foot. “She’s not here.”

“I would have bet you sisters.”

I shrugged.

“She’s softspoken, too.”

“Unlike me.” I raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I like that you say what’s on your mind. I’ve never seen anyone go toe-to-toe with Father Brown.”

“I really like the idea of church, the reality, not so much.”

“I don’t follow.”

Again, I rolled my eyes. “We can take up the topic another time.”

“I was hoping to catch Antoinette.”

“Aren’t we all.”

“Huh?”

I waved him off.

“Do you think she’d go out with me? I mean, I know you’re best friends and all, and I’m sure you wouldn't mind, since you think me a nice guy and would she say yes if I were to ask?”

I twisted a smile. “Levy, Antoinette’s not in a position to date anyone, but if she were, I’m sure she’d consider it.”

“Next time she visits, you let me know and I’ll happen to just stop over?”

What about no don’t you understand? “We’ll see.”

 He looked toward his feet, then up at me. “Father Brown called.”

“Your house?”

“Yes.”

“Well? What he want?”

“Dad took the call in his study, closed the door.”

Then, my third shrug.

“I think it was about you.”

“Gossipy old women.”

“They’re men.”

“Makes no difference, Levy.”

 “Anyway. I can go home and change, help you out.”

“I’m good. See you Thursday, our date.”

 

Xxx

 

Bill Locke hid in his coat collar like a turtle, the wind whipping across the porch. He declined the invitation to enter with, “Not today.”

I accepted the envelope. “Really. You don’t have to drop it off. I’d have been by.”

“We don’t like that kind of money laying around.”

“May I ask you –”

“Sure.”

“With your huge house and all, why a motel –”

“My mother and my wife.”

I narrowed my eyes at the implications, nodding. “You sure you don’t want to come in? I have a fire going. I can make some tea.”

“I appreciate the offer. Not today.”

 

Tuesday the driving wind was joined by a cold fall rain bringing Father Brown and a Mrs. Flanigan to my door. I would have left them on the porch to the pitiless storm if Father Brown had not taken me in that night. Hanging their coats in the entryway, I ushered them to the fire with a promise of hot chocolate.

Laboring with the serving tray, Mrs. Flanigan greeted me with, “Are you all alone in the house?”

“Uncle Percy is upstairs sleeping. He works overnights.”

“I’d heard Marcy’s granddaughter got the house,” she stated. Mrs. Flanigan was a brittle woman, white hair pulled back so tight into a ball on the back of her head, I was sure her face hurt. Sharp blue eyes darted in all directions. Her wool brown dress buttoned halfway up her neck, the hem falling to her ankles.

“Did you know Old Lady Marcy?” I answered, distributing mugs.

“Don’t be disrespectful, child,” Father Brown admonished.

Child. That’s new. “I was under the impression everyone called her that, just not to her face.” I assumed Father Brown peacocking for Mrs. Flanigan.

“I did, eh –”

“Toby, Mrs. Flanigan.”

“I did, know her. As much as anyone knew Marcy.”

“Her being a recluse.”

The two sank deep in oversized armchairs, chairs I’d decided to throw out once Levy stopped over not in a suit. I could tell they regretted giving up their coats, leaning toward the fire.

“A what?” Mrs. Flanigan asked.

“She kept to herself,” Father Brown answered.

“Boy, did she,” Mrs. Flanigan returned.

I brought a chair from the dining room, sitting high between them, looking down, taking a long draw on my chocolate. “What brings you by?”

“We are concern about you,” Mrs. Flanigan opened.

I wondered just who this we was. Certainly not just the two of them. I imaged a gaggle of old women circling to share observations, maybe Levy’s father leading the choir. “Is this about my boots?”

“No, no, no, child,” Father Brown dismissed. “It’s not about the boots at all. We already talked about that.”

“You, Toby, and your shenanigans with that other girl. In church, no less.”

I held her eyes. “Mrs. Flanagan, I assure you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You were,” she said, pausing for dramatic effect, “holding hands.”

“Holding hands,” Father Brown affirmed, nodding. “Holding hands.”

“You guys really need to post your rules and regulation.” I rolled my eyes. “Week before, Belly and I held hands, but now it’s a problem?”

“Who?” Mrs. Flanagan asked.

“Isabella Palmer.”

“Such a sweet young girl. You should stay away from her.”

“What?”

“Toby,” Father brown said harshly. “It’s not the holding hands. It’s what it may indicate.”

I stood abruptly. “I think I’d like you to leave now. I resent the implication.” I didn’t resent the implication I might be gay – I resented the implication that being gay would be a problem.

“Toby, you need help. Father Brown can –”

I gave her my traffic cop hand. “Up out of your chairs, thanks for stopping by, leave now.”

To my great disappointment, Mrs. Flanagan didn’t Well, I never! as she worked to her feet. She did threaten, “We’ll be contacting your parents. We know you’ve suffered horrid abuse. How you act isn’t really your fault.”

I gave Father Brown narrowed eyes. “Isn’t there some kind of confidentiality or something?”

“That only pertains to spiritual counselling, not casual conversations.”

I felt violated, not unlike being raped by my brother and his merry band of rapists. “Better still, I’ll save you the trouble, ask Mom to stop in and see you, Father Brown.”

Struggling into his coat at the door, he said, “That’ll be fine. We need to settle this thing, nip it in the bud.”

I rolled my eyes. “Dispel misconceptions.”

“Absolutely!”

I didn’t know Mary Locke all that well. I was sure she’d take time out to stop by the church and do some bud nipping.

 

Dark clouds marched in from the horizon blanketing the midmorning sky, temperature threating not to get out of the thirties. After breakfast, I thought to lug out more trash, or maybe scrape more wallpaper, or even rake more leaves, start the clean out of the basement, the fence still needed some fixing, inventory the tools. I wasn’t about to toss any serviceable tools. I thought Mort might want them.

With all I had to do, I sat on my porch sipping coffee, thinking of all I could be doing, wondering if Mary Locke was going to blow Father Brown or punch him out. I wasn’t positive she’d do me the favor. When I ran down the situation, her eyes got big, maybe a bit too excited over the prospect.

I didn’t have a Christmas tradition other than attempting to be invisible. I thought I could get two trees, one for the living room, the other to half decorate, toss out on the lawn to lay there for two weeks. I snickered at the idea of making an elaborate ritual like the church does.

“This is my tree,” I said aloud. “Toss it on the lawn in remembrance of me.”

I was drawn to church, unsure why. Feelings like a warm bath on a cold winter night welled up as I approached the building. Lilly Martin held my hand as if to say, This is Toby, my friend. We’d sit in church, and stand, and sing, and kneel. As the weeks marched by one following the other like so many soldiers off to war, Lilly needed more help from me getting up and getting down. Then, Lilly Martin died, blasting a gaping hole in my soul and with that, Father Sweet banished me from the church and the experience.

Entering Paul’s, I didn’t look for Levy and his family. I looked for Lilly Martin. I settled for the Palmers. There, on my porch under the cottony gray clouds just after noon, pain ripped across my chest like being impaled with a spear from Achilles.

Fallen from the chair, on my hands and knees, heaving air into my lungs, I had a moment when I was sure, at age 15, I was dead, or soon to be dead.

A small hand came between my shoulder blades. “Toby. Listen. Relax. Breathe slowly, deep. Good, again. Great, again.”

“Antoinette?”

“Yes, Toby, I’m here. You’re having an anxiety attack. You’re going to be OK. Another deep breath for me. Good.”

I sat upright on the porch deck, working my gray pullover sleeve on my wet face, my vision blurred. “Antoinette?”

“Yeah, huh? Pretty cool.”

I blinked repeatedly. Michael. She worn a gray hooded sweatshirt, hood pulled up, a brushed denim jacket with short skirt to match, buttons up the front like mine, black leggings, and shiny black combat boots. Her makeup was perfect.

“Better?” she asked, nodding.

“Yeah, I think.”

Standing, she pulled me up with her, wrapping me up. “Friends that hug,” she whispered in my ear.

“A too rare treat for me,” I answered.

 

Antoinette sat at the kitchen table while I cooked and assembled egg, bacon, and cheese sandwiches for lunch. “My chest still hurts, a little.”

“Well, you pulled some muscles.”

“I could have died if you’d not come along when you did.”

“I should let you keep thinking that. You’d pass out and start breathing again. I’m not stranger.”

“I had no idea.”

“It’s not like I tell anyone. Dad shames me, says You’re acting like a girl. Like, look at me now, right? Who’s acting?”

“Speaking of.”

“I liked your backpack. Dropped over Smith’s. Got my own. That’s where I got my boots, too. Just like yours. I keep all my girl stuff in the bag, well hidden in the back of the garage. Slip into the garage, change, out the back window, over the fence.”

“You hitchhiked here?”

“Yeah, cool, huh? A lot of kids, even girls, are hitchhiking. No one’s creeped me. Well, most guys hint at blow jobs, which happens regardless of how I’m dressed, but no one’s tried anything. Great sandwich, thanks.”

“Would you like my wig?”

She gave me a sideways look. “Well, you did buy it for me.” She raised her voice two octaves. “I didn’t wash my hair, blah, blah blah.” Voice back to normal, “It’s not that I don’t like me with my hair on my ears, but I’d really like to look more like you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I stole one of Mom’s bras, which took two pillows to stuff. I remembered what you said, went up to the shopping center on the Pike. For some stupid reason, I was scared to buy anything. That’s when I saw this skirt, which I just had to have. If I had more money and a bigger backpack –”

I let out a long sigh as we finished lunch. “Levy’s going to be here soon, we’re –”

“I know. I gathered as much Sunday.”

“Huh?”

“I thought I’d crash. I got the impression he likes me.”

“Well, yeah, he does. He asked if it were alright with me if he asked you out.”

“And, you said?”

“I said it was OK with me, but you weren’t in a position to go out with anyone.”

“Good dodge, Toby.”

“I didn’t think, well, what you said, that you’d want to go out with a guy.”

She rolled her eyes. “What was it you told me that time about speaking of things you can’t understand?”

“You want to go out with him?”

She blushed. “I really dug his attention Sunday. It’s like, well, in real life, I’m invisible. If I want to get a girl’s attention, I have to literally block her way. Levy almost fell over the hood of his car to block my way.”

“I guess it’s OK. I mean, I made it clear to Levy today wasn’t a date-date.”

“Oh? What exactly did you say?”

I rolled my eyes. “I said we cannot date – that I wasn’t looking to date anyone.”

“You have but-face.”

“Huh?”

“You’re going to say but, then explain how that isn’t true.”

I drew a deep breath. “OK, Antoinette. I met Levy down the supermarket ­–”

“Oh, he has a job.”

“Shut up. He asked me out. I gave him a maybe. He has a car, after all, which can come in handy.”

“What a bitch.”

“Yeah, right? Mom calls me a snotty little cunt.” I shrugged. “She may be more right than she is wrong.”

“Well, if you’re just stringing him alone to use his car ­–”

“I gave him a full confession. Saying we can be friends and hang out, but – yeah, but face – but I’m not looking for a boyfriend. Thus, the non-date date today.”

“Oh, Toby, that not the way he’s going to see it, no matter how you say it.”

“Huh?”

“He’s going to count on charming you, wearing you down. That’s how men think.”

“In that case, Antoinette, how would you like to accompany us this afternoon?”

“I was counting on it.”

 

“I really like the hair framing your face.”

Antoinette cocked her head, watching me in the mirror. “I want to try a ponytail, like you.”

Working the brush through the wig, I explained, “You won’t be able to put your hood up.” I tied the hair.

“We look so much alike. Do you think we’re related?”

“Doubtful. I was just reading in National Geographic. The gene pool isn’t as large as we think it may be.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

I shrugged. “I’d read about panic attacks, too.”

“In National Geographic?”

“In other magazines!”

“I was kidding. Hard to miss the piles around the house.”

At the beckon of the doorbell, Antoinette and I jockeyed to be first down the stairs to the door.

“Toby,” Lesley the mailman greeted, hi-ing Antoinette behind me.

“Hi, Lesley!” I didn’t actually wish Lesley would cum on my face. Everyone called him by his first name, which seemed correct.

He displayed a large, tan envelope. “Won’t fit in the mailbox, didn’t want to fold it up. Looks important.”

My eyes bugged, ripping at the flap. “Merry Christmas to me! I now have a high school diploma!”

“Congratulations, Toby!” Lesley said, much too excited because he was as good as Sally.

“That’s great,” Antoinette agreed, much less enthusiastically.

 

The light blue Ford Fairlane station wagon rolled up, the tailgate down, a large tartan green chair protruding out. “The bad news is,” he announced as we came up on him untying ropes, “Dad hates the color. Says it reminds him of Catholic girls, which I don’t find a problem with.”

As he turned, Antoinette, arms open, walked into him. “Friends that hug?”

Surprised, a full half a head over her, he gathered her up. “I guess we are!”

Stepping back, she whistled. “Lazy Boy.”

“It was a great hug!”

“Oh, that it was Levy. I mean the chair.”

“When Dad said he was tossing it, getting a new one, I could see Toby sitting on this next to the fire reading a book.” He opened his arms. “Friends that hug?”

I drew a deep breath. “Eh, no.”

He shrugged. “I’m cool with that! I think between the three of us, we can get this in the living room.”

And we did, hauling the two older chairs away.

 

I have an image burned into my neocortex. A child sits at a large table wearing a dress worthy of church, hands one over the other on her lap, staring at a plate with a single piece of plain white bread in the center. Christmas dinner had been sucked violently down a black vortex, shouting, drunken arguments making no sense, the table cleared – food, dishes, and all into a trash can.

“The children can eat bread, so they don’t go hungry.”

The image burned into my neocortex is from a perspective above the child, anxiety and terror pushing my awareness from my body, to sit at Antoinette Blanc’s table, or rather how I created her family dinner in my mind.

“Twenty?” Levy asked, again.

“I did not stutter.”

“When you said you wanted to pick up a couple things –”

“Levy, relax. You’re doing God’s work.”

“I can never tell if you’re kidding or not.”

Antoinette came out of the mulling people in the meat section of the market, presenting a net bag in each hand. “Bags of mixed fruits!”

“See if you can find the same in mixed nuts.”

“Toward the back of produce,” Levy said.

“Twenty of each.”

Antoinette hurried off.

“That’s twenty – I think.”

Roll that up front. Cans?”

“Can goods, aisle fifteen.”

 

Mr. Sam Ellison was a disheveled man in his fifties, gray hair, thin black tie, white button-down shirt its tuck being defied by his stomach, Ellison a full head over Levy.

“Toby,” Levy said.

I stood, having been on my knees retrieving canned whole corn from the bottom shelve.

Mr. Ellison recoiled slightly.

“I know, I know, Little Shit Girl.”

“Eh, um. I need to know exactly what you’re doing here.”

Levy shrugged. “He’s our manager.”

Sometimes events require sarcasm, which doesn’t mean I have to answer the call. “Each year, Mr. –”

“Ellison. Sam Ellison.”

“Each year, Mr. Ellison, Paul’s has a food drive –”

“Paul’s?”

“Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church,” Levy interjected.

“I’m familiar with Saint Paul’s.”

“Anyway.” I rolled my eyes, counting cans. “Paul’s has a food drive. Helping provide food for needy folks for the holidays, so they have more than just a piece of bread to keep them from being hungry.”

“You could have told me that,” Levy said.

I shrugged. “Dinner rolls?”

“Bakery.”

Mr. Ellison pulled on his chin. “Is your mother here with you?”

“No.”

More chin pulling. “Levy.”

“Yes, Mr. Ellison?”

“See, eh –”

“Toby.”

“See Toby gets a ten-percent discount and pass the word around, if anyone refers to her as the Little Shit Girl, they’re going to get a write up.”

“Two things, Mr. Ellison. Discount, not necessary, but appreciated. Lastly, thank you on the nickname. I’m not little for my age.”

 

Again, I ran the gauntlet of evil looks from a half dozen my-mother-like women busying in the chapel, working downstairs, finding Father Brown at a table with two nondescript young men. “Hey, Father Brown.” The dynamic stuck me odd, Father Brown puffed up like a proud rooster bringing to mind when my father got all full of himself pontificating down from the mountain.

“You haven’t spoken to –” he began an answer.

“I have not. I have a donation for your food drive.”

He dismissed me with a wave at the air and, “You can drop it off in the foyer, like everyone else.”

“You’ll want it down here – sixteen boxes, some things you’re going to want to put on ice.” I served up my rolled eyes. “If I knew where the needy lived, I’d deliver the stuff right to their door.”

“Alright, alright. Side door, I’ll unlock it.”

“You may wish to write this down. Donation from Sam Ellison and the market. I don’t want you mistakenly giving credit to an angel or anything.”

“Sam? I know Sam.”

“Nice guy, heart of gold.”

 

“Twenty turkeys,” Levy moaned as we strolled among the cut trees.

“I read National Geographic. It’s not nearly enough, but it’s something.”

“Brown thanked me – and the market.”

I shrugged. “After hearing what Father Brown did to Jennifer Wilkens over that fifty bucks, I thought it in my best interest to pass the credit alone to someone else. My goal’s to give some kid more than a piece of white bread to eat for dinner, not take bows in front of the congregation, having everyone cheering and clapping.”

“I don’t think ­–”

“Of course, they’d not cheer and clap. They’d be embarrassed into silence by Father Brown’s shaming.”

“I kind of caught that, people even laughing when Jenny said an angel gave her the money –”

I gave Levy a sideways glance and smirk.

“You?”

I shrugged. “When I was a kid, the only reason I had decent clothes to wear was because of the generously of people through the church.”

Antoinette hurried to us, breathless, presenting a box. “Can we get this? It’s for the top of the tree!”

I inhaled her excitement, excitement inspired well beyond the eight-inch three-dimensional plastic star. I’d grown to like, maybe even love, this Antoinette in such a short period of time.

“Yes, we can get that.”

“The cart is almost full!”

“I’m sure we need everything.”

“OK!” She hurried back the way she’d come.

“Are you rich?”

“I am not rich. This is my first Christmas. I like this one.” I indicated a five-foot Douglas Fir.

“You have high ceilings –”

“I can reach the top without a ladder.”

Again, Antoinette rolled up on us. “I think I have everything you said, and more.”

“Did you get a stand?”

“A what?”

“For the tree.”

She blushed the cutest blush ever blushed. I was sure I was in love.

“I got distracted.”

“Find a stand, go ahead and pay for everything.” I put a fold of bills in her hand. “Meet us at the car.”

Off she went at a trot, her ponytail marking time.

“She’s like a child.”

I think my glance was harder than I meant it. “Year older than me. We’re both barely not children.”

An elderly man appeared from between the trees. “This one? A fine choice.” He cupped his mouth. “Jack! Charlie!” Then, back to Levy. “Jack and Charlie will tie it on top your car.”

“I got this,” Levy protested.

“Jack and Charlie will be fine. Light blue Ford wagon,” I corrected, paying for the tree, putting an additional five-dollar bill in the old man’s hand. “Merry Christmas.”

Wandering as if on a wooded path, Levy asked, “Is Antoinette OK?”

I stepped aside to allow three laughing children to run past. “I don’t understand the question.”

He pursed his lips. “I guess I mean to ask: Is she sick?”

“I still don’t understand the question, or maybe I don’t understand why’d you ask such a question.”

“It’s the wig, Toby. If I’m out of line, just say so. Like the hug, I follow instructions. My Aunt Mabel got sick, wore a wig, died young.”

“Nothing like that, Levy.” I wasn’t sure it was my lie to make up. “You’re going to need to ask her.”

“Well, that’s a big relief, anyway.”

“It’s gotta really suck being in love with someone who’s sick and dies.”

“I didn’t say I was in love with her!”

“I wasn’t talking about you – or her.”

 

I retrieved my only Christmas ball, light blue, a glitter snowscape, wrapped in brittle tissue, Antoinette glittered across the side, Toby on the other.

Antoinette shopped well, the tree postcard perfect with lights and decoration awaiting the star on top, the honor given to Levy when he returned with pizza.

“Who’s Antoinette?” Antoinette asked over my shoulder as I placed the ball.

“You are. Can we leave it at that? This day has been too perfect.”

“Sure.”

I looked over my shoulder. “He asked about the wig.”

“Yeah?”

“He thought you might be sick. I told him you weren’t, that’s all.”

“Not your lie to make up.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.”

With a twisted expression, she dragged the wig from her head, pulling at her hair. “When he gets back, make yourself scarce. You’re right. This day have been the perfectest of all perfect days. Levy has earned a conversation.” She watched her boots, then looked up, holding my eyes. “Funny thing is, I like him.”

“I’ve been watching you two dance all day.” At first, I saw this Antoinette my own creation, a projection representing the Antoinette and me in one flesh and blood person. As with the dozens of times I imagined being with the Antoinette and me, this Antoinette was there. Somewhere between twenty turkeys and forty feet of garland this Antoinette emerged from the smoke and mirrors an autonomous being not only severed from my imagination, but completely removed from Michael.

Somewhere halfway through decorating the tree, Antoinette, with much lip biting, patiently untangling a string of lights, an act so un-Michael-like, I stopped looking for her to break character. She wasn’t acting. She was Antoinette.

She groaned through her teeth. “I don’t know if I like him or like the way he likes me.”

“I told you the story of him asking me out and the car.”

Stepping to the front window, she turned. “It’s a perfect tree, Toby, and it’s been a perfect day. Maybe we can leave it at that.”

“Maybe.”

A car door shouted. “Disappear.”

“Like I was living back home.”

 

Opening the door, I glanced over my shoulder, Antoinette before of the tree, rocking on her toes, nervous smile, pretty face, short hair jutting up in spikes bringing a sprite or imp to mind, wig dangling from her fingers, her arms down in front of her.

In that moment, in that glance, I loved her more than any human being could love another. I wanted to be Levy.

Pizza laden, he asked, “Where you going?”

I offered a sigh. “It’s been a perfect day. I want to sit on my porch – my porch, I really like the sound of that – and just soak up the moment.”

“Let me put this stuff down, I’ll join you!”

“I’m good, Levy. Antoinette wants to talk to you.”

He looked past me. “My God, Toby. She’s beautiful.”

“She is that.”

 

I thought I should be an arbiter, choosing to be invisible instead. I didn’t know Antoinette any better than I knew Levy. When I found myself willing to let Michael go, I discovered I was looking forward to getting to know this Antoinette. As I watched Levy struggling with twenty turkeys, I found myself looking forward to getting to know him, too.

“A perfect day,” I said, watching the lights twinkle through the garland on the railing. It was like the three of us were family, but in a good way, not the way I knew family to be.

I expected shouting. I expected my perfect Christmas tree to land on the yard. I expected Antoinette to take a serious beating, which I would then answer with taking the softball bat in the corner by the front door to Levy until my arms got tired.

Time suspended while I bathed in the worst possible things that could happen, knowing that’s how the universe works. Pushing from the wicker chair, careful on the creaking porch boards, I snuck a look through the white cheesecloth curtains on the door.

“Holy fuck,” I said aloud in a breathless whisper.

The fireplace danced on the left, the perfect tree just to the right, between the two, Levy and Antoinette were locked in a cliché kiss, even with Antoinette’s right leg bent at the knee.

“Perfect,” I again whispered aloud, my heart so full, I thought it may burst from my chest. I wanted to be Levy, I wanted to be Antoinette. I spent the next four minutes back on the chair ugly crying.

I don’t know why.

 

At the sound of the door, Antoinette rolled away, palm to her face, blushing, Levy looking equally guilty.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Pizza’s getting cold.”

“Pizza, right,” Levy said.

I retrieved plates from the cabinet, distributing pizza and glances, Antoinette blushing again, us standing at the kitchen table.

“It’s really no big deal,” Levy declared.

“It’s not?”

Antoinette nodded. “Yeah, that I refused to go to church, Dad holding me down, Mom chopping my hair off to punish me.” More nodding.

“I don’t mean them being assholes isn’t a big deal. I mean, Toni’s beautiful, even with short hair.”

“Toni. Antoinette is beautiful, no qualifier required.”

“Huh?”

“When you tacked even with short hair on, that’s a qualifier.”

“Toni is OK. Many people call me Toni.”

I let out a long sigh. “I know.” I wasn’t ready to give this Antoinette up. I knew I had to.

 

The mall was clogged with holiday shoppers. I lingered out of the way at the temporary hip-high white picket fence twenty feet from Santa Claus watching Santa with the children. My parents were not big on Santa, infatuated with the pathological desire to choke even the illusion of magic from a child’s life. I hadn’t mused over their propensity, figuring they wanted my life to be as barren, flat, colorless, and lifeless as theirs.

The Santa at the garden center was to my parent’s liking with his obviously fake beard, a young, skinny man made to look overweight, his outfit not real clothes, just a costume. The mall Santa was the real deal, an actual elderly man with a white beard halfway down this chest, his clothes real. He didn’t bother with the corny, flat ho, ho, ho. He had a genuine, joyful laugh. I could almost believe.

A child screamed, an angry bellow, taking my attention from Santa. A man twenty feet away had the child by the wrist, the child maybe around seven years old. I assumed the child wished to see Santa, to speak of Christmas wishes. I also assumed the man his father, an asshole like my father, with no time or bother to wait fifteen minutes in line for such nonsense.

Across my mindscape, I imagined stalking through the crowd, softball bat in hand. The man wouldn’t see me coming, the bat taking him to the cold floor in one convincing blow, then another to be sure. Go, I would say to the child. Go, see Santa.

“Have you been a good girl, Toby?” sang from behind me.

I experienced a moment of confusion, thinking I was still in the mindscape, turning, looking up. “Not even close, Mr. Claus.”

He blessed me with his joyous laugh. “You may call me Santa!”

“I cannot, Mr. Claus, and you know why.”

“I do, I do.” He leaned down, lowering his voice. “You have always known that I cannot make your wishes come true.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I have.”

“That, Toby, is up to you.” Standing tall again, taller than any human being could, making me feel like the child I was, he sang that wonderful laugh again, returning to his throne and the children.

I didn’t bother with conjecture, how he knew my name.

“That, Toby, is a great Santa,” came a whisper in my ear.

“You have no idea,” I answered, turning on Antoinette. We dropped our backpacks off our shoulders, embracing like the end of the universe was upon us, freezing time.

“I like the friends that hug thing,” she whispered in my ear.

I wanted to whisper back I love you. I didn’t with only about a million ways for her to take it wrong.

 

Playland was crazy busy, packed. Fighting through the mess of people, I told Mary Locke, “People smell.”

“Don’t I know it.” She accepted my timecard, rolling her eyes to my right. “Office, ten minutes.”

The change booth backed onto a chain-link fence, the fence separating the public area from the private. To get to the office, we had to go almost to the rollercoaster entrance. The operator gave me a hard look, readying a challenge.

“Hey, Keira,” I greeted casually.

“Toby.” Her board shoulders wrestled the containment of her red plaid shirt, tight blue jeans, her ample hair in a messy ponytail. “I’ve been watching for you.”

“I’m sure you’ve been watching for me, not Robbie.”

“I’m going to tell him you remembered his name!”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t do me any favors.”

“I heard what happened in your school, understand better what you said.”

I shrugged, pushing the gate open, giving me access to the office door.

“You work here?”

“Well, not here, but I do work for Mr. Locke.”

“They wouldn’t have actually raped you.”

“Not unconscious bleeding on the bathroom floor they wouldn’t.”

“Really, Toby, from what I heard, you overreacted.”

“You’re talking like you have a dick, Keira. From what you heard? Tell me boys will be boys I just may leave you unconscious bleeding on the floor.”

“Toby!” Keira’s eyes went big.

“Toby!” Antoinette agreed, taking my arm, pulling. Five paces off, she asked, “What is wrong with you?”

I gnashed my teeth, matter-of-factly delivering, “Nothing wrong with me, it’s them. When I was little, those assholes could fuck with me. I’m not little anymore. Let them fuck with me now.” Using my key, I let us in the office.

“I remember grade school. Bad things often happened to kids who messed with you.”

“Never by design, Toni. Never by design.”

I made myself comfortable at the desk, Antoinette on a chair near the corner. “What happened in school?”

“Like Keira said. A misunderstanding. Six boys dragged me in the bathroom looking to gang rape me. I didn’t want to be gang raped.” I rolled my eyes. “I got lucky. They must think me a trained fighter or something. If it weren’t for my boots, surprise, and a wet floor, they just may have raped me.”

Antoinette jumped to her feet when Mary Locke entered, I did not.

Locke stood over me, drumming her fingers on the desk. “Toby, Toby, Toby.”

“Miss Locke? Do you wish details?”

“I do not. Somehow or other, your antics got the attention of the church board.”

“Antics?” Antoinette questioned from the corner, ignored.

“Gossipy old ladies,” I critiqued. “Father Brown said I needed to talk to you.”

“Oh. When did you see him?”

“We dropped some things by for the food drive.”

“Some things. Twenty turkeys!” Antoinette bit.

“Really?” Miss Locke asked.

I shrugged. “Again, you want to hear the story?”

“Again, I do not. Very generous of you.”

“I told Father Brown if I knew where the needy lived, I would have dropped the turkeys right to their door instead of bothering the church.”

She bit her lip, watching down on me. “Brown and those other tight asses got it in their heads that you’re an abused child.”

“It had nothing to do with me being abused. They think I’m an abomination going around abominiating everything and everyone just because I was holding hands with Antoinette. Oh, Miss Locke, Antoinette.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Antoinette said.

Miss Locke responded with a sharp nodded.

I did not mention the irony concerning Antoinette not being a girl, so we weren’t actually abominating, an irony so rich, it made my teeth hurt. “What is real, Miss Locke, doesn’t matter. What they think is real, is what matters.”

“I would have told Brown to fuck all the way off with his hate and bigotry if I knew that. He threatened to involve the authorities, thinking he can have you removed from an abusive environment.”

“For my own good, of course.”

“Of course.”

“What do we do?”

“We? Nothing. I had a long conversation with Brown. We came to an agreement.”

“I bet that wasn’t cheap.”

“When the amount is correct, things don’t seem so abusive.”

“Or abominated. You can take it out of my pay. I’d love to put Bribing Church Official on my resume.”

She scoffed. “We’ve got you covered. Never did much like the church, anyone of them.”

“Thanks to the generosity of the church, I had clothes to wear, sometimes food on the table growing up.”

“That explains the twenty turkeys. However, that was not the church. That was people like you.”

I shrugged. “I repeat: If I knew where the needy lived.”

“There’s a caveat. Do you know what a caveat is?”

“A fancy way of saying but-face.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, you say a thing, then add a but.”

“Like that. The church board would like if you don’t go near the church ever again.”

“Got you. Father Brown gets a payment in cash, I say away from their building, they don’t drop a dime on me. Was there anything else to this caveat?”

“Eh, no.”

I looked at Antoinette. “I guess you’re free to attend church with the Palmers.”

“I’m not sure –”

“I am.” Standing, I felt I should offer a hand to Miss Locke to affirm the deal but didn’t. “Miss Locke. Thank you for pulling my tit out of the wringer.”

She laughed. “You lack both.”

“Not the point. Thank you.”

“Like I said, it’s all an investment.”

I watched her eyes into painfulness wondering for the first time whether I was selling my soul to the Devil even though I didn’t believe in either.

 

 

Part Six